Of snowballs and mistletoe
by Spirit-Animal-Jade
Summary: "Clara Oswald, what's your favourite day of the year?" / Or The Doctor and Clara find themselves in a bit of situation. Whouffle fluff by the bucketload.


_an: pointless fluffy Christmas whouffle because obvious it's june and this stuff just springs to mind. no, i don't know what i'm doing, but enjoy it. whatever it is._

* * *

Of snowballs and mistletoe

"Clara Oswald, what's your favourite day of the year?"

Clara looks up from the book she's been reading (some long volume on the history of time travel that nearly knocked her out when it fell from a shelf in the Tardis library) and quirks an eyebrow at The Doctor, smiling amusedly at his crooked grin.

"My favourite day of the year? Why'd you want to know?"

"Because, I'm trying to decide where to go next, and I'm out of ideas. You didn't want to go to Freidor-"

"-Excuse me, you said that planet had an arachnid problem. Whacky aliens and killer snowmen I can handle, but I will _not_ willingly go to a planet with a self-confessed out of control spider population." She shudders for extra emphasis and The Doctor rolls his eyes.

"But it has the most beautiful scenery at this time of year. Purple skies and everything. I could just, I don't know, brush away the spiders-"

Clara shuts her book with a loud snap and stands up, poking The Doctor in the chest. "I said no, Doctor."

He sighs, disappointment showing in his face and Clara shakes her head. She turns away and walks around the console, trailing her finger over the various button and levers and stops after a couple of paces. The Doctor pauses fiddling with his screwdriver and watches her think. "I suppose," she announces to the rest of the room, her back still to him, "that my favourite day of the year would have to be Christmas."

The Doctor chuckles. "Christmas? I mean I love Christmas. Give me carols and tinsel and presents any time. It's the only day you humans seem to stop bickering long enough to love each other. Kind of beautiful, It's always been my favourite, but I didn't expect Clara Oswald to be so cliche," he teases, and Clara whirls round to face him, her arms crossed.

"Oi! I'm not cliche, it's just Christmas is my favourite. Everything so bright and colourful, and everyone's happy, you know? Like it doesn't matter cos it's christmas and there's good food and family and being happy."

She looks at The Doctor, challenging him to disagree, but of course he doesn't, just smiles at her and flicks a couple of levers on the console. "Well that settles it, then. We're going to Terredehivre"

"Terrede-what now?"

"It's French. It's a bit of a fancy planet, but Miss Oswald, we are going to make it Christmas."

Clara frowns sceptically. "Doctor, it's nearly June."

"Not where we're going." He grabs the lever and tugs downwards and the Tardis starts humming around them both.

/

Clara, decked out with hat, gloves, scarf and a expectant expression steps gingerly out of the Tardis. Her feet meet snow, inches deep around her ankles and soft and fluffy. The Doctor is already prancing ahead of her, making a mess of the white blanket and giggling like a five year old. Clara can't help a giggle of her own slipping out at the sight.

She looks around her, eyes wide. Everything in her vision is decked in a dusting of snow. Pine trees and little cottages straight out of a child's book of fairytales. In the distance there'a little building with a steeple, a church perhaps with a gate and trellis bowing under the weight of the snow piled on top. The church's roof looks like it's been sprinkled with icing sugar, and the whole scene looks like something similar to the winter scene painting that hangs in her parent's house. She smiles and is about to ask whether The Doctor had known this when something collides softly with her side and snow explodes around her.

"Hey!" she exclaims, but The Doctor is laughing, doubled over already at the petulant look on her face. "Right, you're on Doctor!" This soon has him straightening up and scrambling for the snow, vainly attempting to build a fort to shelter behind that Clara soon has tumbling down with a few well aimed snowballs.

"For the saviour of the universe you're a little rubbish at defending yourself under a snowball attack," she laughs. The Doctor frowns and sends a snowball rocketing into the air. Before she can dodge it lands perfectly on her neck, slipping under her scarf and trickling down her spine, ice cold and melting.

She screams, half laughing and The Doctor's chuckles mix with her own. "You were saying?"

"Oh, shut up you."

"Make me," he says, already preparing another snowball in his gloved hand. There's a slight pause where their eyes meet and Clara's cheeks flush red, but then a snowball is flying to hit The Doctor directly on the chin. It sends him collapsing backwards into the snow and Clara runs over, giggling.

She kneels down next to him, looking at The Doctor's dazed but smiling face. "Couldn't help it. Your chin is just such an easy target," she whispers, her eyes twinkling.

The Doctor pulls himself into a sitting position. "Oh yeah? I could say the same about that pretty little face of yours." She frowns, confused, but then he's blowing snow in her face like it's bath bubbles and she's spitting it out and laughing.

After a couple more minutes where they end up rolling around in the snow like over excited teenagers with an unexpected snow day Clara pulls herself together and The Doctor helps her up. She brushed herself down and leans over to fix his bow tie with a lopsided smile.

"So where exactly are we? Somewhere with snow, obviously, but where?"

"Technically this isn't snow. It's made to mimic snow but it's all chemicals. This is a planet built specifically to replicate winter and Christmas all year round."

"What, so it's always winter?"

"Yep."

"And always Christmas?"

The Doctor nods, tugging on her arm. "Welcome Clara to Terredehivre." He sweeps an arm across, grinning, "Merry Christmas, Clara."

Clara laughs and pulls him into a hug, her arm wrapping around his side snugly. "Merry Christmas to you too, you idiot."

Now that they've stopped mucking about, Clara can hear what sounds like jingling bells travelling across the field, but from every direction. The Doctor pauses to listen too and smiles.

"Funny how they do that. I don't know where it's coming from. I think it's the planet's version of birdsong. Very festive."

Clara nods and grins.

"It's perfect. Just like out of a christmas card."

"I think that's where they took the inspiration from, the Greigans. They'd be pleased to hear that."

"What, so this all the work of aliens?"

"Sure. They got very heavily enamoured with your human idea of Christmas and built a planet around it. Lovely race, very gentle. A little whimsical perhaps, but excellent writers for it."

"I think they're brilliant," Clara declares, slipping her small gloved hand into The Doctor's matching one. "Thank you for bringing me." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he squeezes her hand tighter.

"You're welcome my love."

If Clara notices the term of endearment, she doesn't comment on it, just walks with The Doctor, crunching the snow under her boots. "Can we go inside?" she inquires, pointing to the one of the small cottages,

"I don't see why not."

/

He opens the little white gate for her and she skips through. The door to the little cottage swings open when she touches it, so she steps hesitantly inside. "Hello?"

Her own voice echoes back to her, but the house stays silent. She glances back at The Doctor, who has to duck considerably to get through the door. He shrugs. "Maybe nobody lives here. I mean, maybe they got bored of constant Christmas."

"Maybe." She takes another tentative step forward. The house is small and cramped, but warm and cosy at the same time. Everything is furnished in wood, sandpapered beautifully, with little lace decorations and Christmas ornaments everywhere. China santas and angels and little glass snowmen in the halls. Tinsel bedecks the paintings on the walls and fairy lights hand around the door frames. It's a perfect grotto.

She brushed her fingers along the walls and picks up and little reindeer sculpture, admiring the talented wood craving, before placing back down. The Doctor stands behind her, his head bowed so as to not hit the ceiling, smiling as he watches her explore, her brunette hair shining under the twinkling lights.

"It's beautiful," she breathes.

"Mmmhhmm," The Doctor finds himself agreeing.

She glances back at him, an eyebrow piqued, like she knows just what he was referencing and for a second he feels awkward and shifts his gaze downwards, but she just shakes her head and walks through a doorway into the lounge, equally bedecked and decorated. There's a christmas tree in the corner, glittering and gold, covered in minuscule bells and hanging icicles. Clara walks over to it in awe and The Doctor tries to follow, but he's met with a seemingly invisible force between him and the next room, one that repels him backwards and makes him stumble.

He frowns, utterly complexed, and pulls out his sonic, scanning the doorway. Lifting it so he can see the reading, he notices Clara almost stroking the tree, smiling happily. When he looks down at the reading his eyes bulge and he coughs in surprise and ends up spluttering.

Clara spins round and walks back over. "What? Doctor. are you okay? Doctor?" She reaches out, trying to touch his arm, but is stopped by the same sort of force that affected The Doctor and retracts her hand like she's been given an electric shock. She tries again, but is thrown backwards.

"Doctor?" she cries, sounding a little panicked. "Why can't I touch you?"

The Doctor regains control of his breathing and winces apologetically. "Umm, well you see, err, it's nothing dangerous, it's just that, err-"

Clara crosses her arms. "Spit it out!"

He looks from Clara's annoyed face and then to the doorframe, one sprig of mistletoe hanging suspended from a nail in the wood. He licks his lips nervously.

"Umm, basically you can't leave this room and I can't get you unless we, err, kiss," he finishes lamely, pointing weakly to the mistletoe above their heads.

Clara's eyes widen. "Is that it?" she asks, exasperated.

"Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"We can't stop until the mistletoe thinks we've done enough."

Clara narrows her eyes at him. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Well, umm a peck on the lips probably ins't going to do it."

"Oh," she says, and The Doctor thinks she's going to complain, but then she uncrosses her arms and steps forward, as close to the invisible barrier as she can get. "Well come on then."

His eyebrows shoot upwards. "What?"

"Well is there any other way around it? Now get down here, Chin Boy."

The mistletoe must know she has the intention of kissing him, because it lets her grab the lapel of his coat and pull him down until his face is level with her soft and round one. Then she closes the gap and his lips are on hers, slanting across his own, soft but insistent and he finds himself responding, kissing her back, returning the light pressure, moving his mouth against hers. The usual hand flailing action is missing and instead his eyes slips close as Clara continues, snaking a hand to cradle his jaw. It's teasingly slow and she tastes like christmas cinnamon, sweet with a kick. He feels a slight scrape of her teeth on his bottom lip and nearly jumps, but then Clara's realising him, her cheeks flushed and red. She's gasping a bit for breath, and he suddenly realises so is he.

"Well?" she asks, still wheezing. "Did it work?"

He extends an arm carefully. He has to stop short when it feels like it hits a brick wall. "I'd say no."

Clara bites her lips. "Well then, I guess we try again."

This time one of her hands pulls him closer and moves to his cheeks while the other creeps up the the nape of his neck and pulls on the tufts of hair there, sending a tingling sensation down his spine. She brings their mouths together roughly and only spends a couple of seconds brushing their lips together before she trails her tongue along his lower lip, pushing it inside when he opens his mouth in surprise. But then his tongue and hers are dancing and he gets lost in it, the feeling of her so close and so soft and sweet smelling. His hand wanders down her body to rest on the ball of her lip and he tugs her closer until there's not an inch of space between them anywhere.

When they pull away they're both reeling and Clara trips, right though the doorway. The Doctor catches her easily and pulls her upright against him, smiling down at her.

"I guess it worked," she says breathlessly, the corners of her lips twitching. The Doctor chuckles and leans down to press a chaste kiss to her forehead.

"I guess it dd. You want to go back to the Tardis for Christmas dinner? I don't think we can go anywhere else without fear of a repeat experience."

"Pushy mistletoe. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea," she teases, running a hand down his chest.

"The Greigans are a fiercely romantic bunch."

Clara giggles. "I figured. But I'm hungry, so I'll take your offer of dinner, Doctor."

"Oh you will, will you?"

She nods, fastening their hands together and leading him out the door. "If if the turkey's not burnt, this just might be my best christmas ever."

It's started to snow outside and it settles in her hair and on the tip of her nose, which is already turning pink from the cold. He smiles broadly and tucks a strand of snow dusted hair behind her ear.

"I'm taking that as a challenge, Miss Oswald."

* * *

_an: yeah i don't know, but i hoped you enjoyed it. do i get bad luck for writing this when it's not christmas, like you're supposed to get when you listen to christmas carols out of season? hmmm._


End file.
